Night Falls
by MengPoNiang
Summary: In which the Turtles must face the mortal wounding of their closest friend. Rated for language, violence, and gore.
1. Chapter 1

**They don't belong to me. After the box office for the new movie, I wish they did. Rated for language, violence, gore. Please review. (Edited for format 3/1/08)**

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_Another night, another patrol, another fight._

Michelangelo sighed, idly spinning his nunchaku over his fingers, watching the moonlight glint on the burnished chain. A quick glance around revealed two of his brothers, well hidden in the shadows, their eyes watchful, taking every detail of the street below. Leonardo was crouched on the cornice of the building, steadying himself with one hand on the stone block. His other hand was upheld in a "wait" motion. Anyone looking up to the sky would have thought him to be a very strange, albeit lifelike, gargoyle.

They had spotted the small knot of Purple Dragons on the street below, which as Raphael had pointed out with no lack of expletives, meant no good. Being as Donatello had the best ears and was generally the stealthiest, he had crept down toward them to try to discern what they were up to. If Mike looked over the edge of the building, he could see his other brother standing still as stone on the fire escape just above the alley.

With a sudden movement, Leonardo's upheld hand clenched into a fist, and without a word he leapt from his perch, plummeting toward the street. He was followed closely by Raphael, who had been passing his time by whetting his sais on the concrete wall of the edifice. With a sigh, Mike vaulted over the edge himself.

He touched down briefly on a darkened balcony, somersaulted further downward to catch a hanging cable line, then dropped the final distance to the ground, chucks in hand, to land at his brothers' sides.

Raphael had an evil-looking grin on his face, reveling in the terror in the eyes of the younger gang members. He started to take a step forward, watching with glee as a nervous ripple went through the teenagers. A glance from Leonardo reined him in, and with a growl, he made due with smacking the tips of his sais together, sending an ominous-sounding 'ting' through the charged air.

Donny materialized at Leo's side, and a low murmur reached Michelangelo's ears. Leo gave a miniscule nod, and Don backed away, yielding the lead position to his oldest brother. He stepped backward to Mike's side, and Mike felt himself relax a little as he registered the warmth of his brother next to him.

"This robbery isn't going to happen tonight, guys." Leo's voice was low, but the warning therein was clear. "This is your chance to clear out, and to make it home in one piece."

A nervous rumble went through the group, as if they were trying to gather courage from one another. All eyes were on the largest thug, who was standing at the front of the pack, arms crossed, legs akimbo. There was a sneer on his face and hatred in his eyes. "I wouldn't worry so much about us, freaks. You're the ones whose gonna go home in pieces." The man's voice was a rumbling basso, and disdain poured from every word.

Feeling Donatello shift his stance next to him, Mike muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "You're just dyin' to correct his grammar, aren't ya." He was rewarded with a bo knocking against his shin, and he couldn't suppress a grin.

"Besides," spat out the gang leader, "We brought you a present." The crowd of young delinquents parted to reveal a sight that Mike immediately knew would haunt his dreams. A hulking young man, covered from neck to navel with intricate Purple Dragon tattoos, had a body slung over his shoulder. With a lip-curling smile, he flung the body to the concrete. The skull hit the ground with a sound like a ripe melon, ringlets of red hair spreading across the pavement. Her face was battered almost beyond recognition, oozing blood and swollen grotesquely. Her shirt was torn open, exposing her blood-soaked bra, and her white pants were almost completely crimson.

"April."

Leo's voice was quiet, without emotion. Stating a fact.

A growl, low in the throat, split the night air, and Mike's gaze immediately flew to Raphael. But his brother was standing stock still, his face pale, eyes glued to their prostrate friend, and at the blood that was spreading around her head like a halo. The growl increased to a roar and Mike was nearly knocked from his feet as Donatello bashed into him, launching himself towards April's body, a blood-chilling scream ripping from his throat.

Don's snarl seemed to goad the others into action. Raph responded with a scream of his own, leaping forward to slash at the lead thug with his sais, opening a crimson line in his throat that pulsed and spurted blood in cadence with his heartbeat. It only took a split second, but Mike watched as the life-light left the man's eyes, realization being replaced by a soulless stare as he toppled to his knees and fell face-forward over April's body.

Leonardo's katanas were a shining blur as he slashed his way forward, his face a study in concentration. In contrast to the raging mask that Raphael wore during a fight, Leo's visage was blank, calculating. Only his eyes belied his feelings, and then only to his brothers who knew him so well. To his enemies, he was a killing machine, and they fell before him one after another, some silent, some screaming, some gurgling as they choked on their own blood.

Mike fully expected Donatello to stop at April's body, drag her to safety, protect her. So he was vaguely shocked when Don planted his bo and vaulted over her, striking the tattooed dragon in the chest with both feet, knocking him backward into his mates, bowling them all over into a heap. Don landed straddling the tattooed one, and without a word, he wound up and swung his bo like a golf club, connecting with a sickening noise. Teeth, blood, and bone spattered from the thug's face, and he crumpled like a rag doll.

Since his brothers seemed hell-bent on the fight, Mike sheathed one of his nunchacku and skidded forward to kneel at April's side, shoving the dead gang leader away from her body. Her breathing was shallow, hitching in her chest, and her eyes were glazed, half-lidded. The blood that was oozing from her head seemed thick, clotted, slow-moving. Every few breaths she would give a wet-sounding cough, sending a froth of blood out of her mouth to drip down her cheeks.

Mike made a little noise of distress as the tumbling body of one of the thugs crashed into his back, then caromed off and landed on April. He shouldered the man's body out of the way, then grasped April beneath the arms and began dragging her away from the fray, toward the curb, where he knew a manhole awaited. Levering the handle of one of his chucks into the cover, he wrenched it from its seat and shoved it aside. He knelt and, with a silent apology to April, heaved her over his shoulder and dropped into the sewer.

Sharp stinging traveled up his calves as he landed flat-footed on the stone below, but he ignored it and began to run. He was torn, considering leaving April below and joining his brothers in the fight, but he sensed that April was in dire condition. _Splinter will know what to do. Please, God, let Splinter know what to do._


	2. Chapter 2

**Still not mine. Wish they were. Please review, I lurve reviews. (Edited for format 3/1/08)**

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By the time he reached the lair, Michelangelo was panting with exertion, his lungs burning with every breath. April's dead weight on his shoulders had slowed his progress, and he flinched as he looked at his chest and saw his plastron gleaming with her blood. He reached up with his free hand and pulled the lever that opened the hidden access door to the lair, at the same time screaming, "Sensei!"

Mike stumbled into the common area and bent to let April's body slide to rest on the couch. She continued to make that strange gurgling, hissing noise as she lay there, motionless, pale. Mike heard a shuffling noise and knew that his father had come up behind him. He turned to look with pleading eyes at the aged rat. "She's bad, Master," he whispered, smoothing April's hair away from her forehead. Bone glimmered bright white amid the gore at her hairline. Splinter's eyes betrayed his own concern, and he hurried to the kitchen to retrieve the well-used first aid kit.

Shouldering Mike aside, Splinter knelt with a quiet groan at the side of the couch. He gently ran his paw over April's hair, taking a close look at the scalp wound. "This is the smallest of our worries, Michelangelo," he said gruffly. "Wounds to the head bleed much, but look worse then they truly are." Pushing April's tattered shirt to the side, he brushed her skin gently with a square of gauze. A sharp intake of breath. Mike leaned over his father's shoulder, and let out an inadvertent moan at the sight.

There was a four-inch slash across April's chest. With every shallow breath she took, bubbles of arterial red blood foamed at the edges of the wound, and Mike realized that the hissing gurgle was coming from the wound itself. "Where are your brothers, my son?" Splinter's voice was quiet, but worry made it somehow harsh. "I need your brother."

"They were fighting the dragons, Sensei, when I left them. I knew I had to get April here." Before Michelangelo could get to his feet to go after Donatello, he heard the access door grind open, and caught the sound of running feet.

Raphael was the first through the door, his face angry, eyes searching. He skidded to a halt as his gaze on his father and brother, and on April's inert, blood-bathed form, and the anger was replaced momentarily by fear. Donatello was close on Raphael's heels, and he nearly crashed headlong into him.

Don elbowed his brother out of the way and hurried to the couch. A split-second glance at the wound and he murmured, "Pneumothorax."

"Pneumo-whozitz?" Mike peeped around his brother's shoulder, and received an elbow to the plastron for his trouble.

"She's got a sucking chest wound. Her lung is collapsed from all the air in the pleural cavity." Turning to Raphael, Don ordered, "Bring me saran wrap and duct tape." Raphael merely stood mute until Don stood and delivered a punch to his chest that rocked him back on his heels. Raphael shook his head and hurried to the kitchen, cursing under his breath, his face filled with conflicting emotions of rage, fear, and hatred.

Returning to April's side, Donatello knelt and gently cleaned the blood from her mouth with some moist gauze. "This is bad, Sensei," he said quietly, trying to keep Mike from hearing. "She'll have lost a lot of blood internally. Without a human donor, I don't know what I can do."

"Michelangelo," barked Leo. Don hadn't even noticed that his eldest brother was standing over his shoulder. "Go call Casey. Tell him to get here as fast as he can." Relieved to have a task of his own to take his mind away from the ruin of a human being before him, Mike took off at a sprint.

"Let's get her to the infirmary," ordered Leonardo, finding solace in his role as leader, in giving orders, in trying to make this better. Gently, Leo and Don lifted April's body between them in a basket carry, and walked her gingerly into the makeshift infirmary, with Splinter shuffling along behind. It was a bare room, with only a bed and shelf-lined walls, and with a hodge-podge of salvaged medical equipment strewn around in a sort of organized chaos. They had just gotten April situated on the bed when Raphael bounded through the door with the supplies Don had asked for.

Quickly, efficiently, Don tore off a large sheet of the plastic wrap and smoothed it over the wound on April's chest. He secured three sides of the wrap with tape, then stood stock still, watching and listening with a cocked head. As April inhaled shallowly, the plastic wrap was pulled tight against her skin, forming an airtight seal. Donny blew out a breath of relief, but his face was still taut with tension.

"Once Casey gets here and we get some more blood into her, we may need to put in a tube to drain some of the blood out of her chest cavity." Donatello turned to reach for more gauze from the shelf, but caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could fully react, Raphael slammed into him with bone-crushing force, knocking him to the ground and landing atop him.

"What the fuck were you doing out there?!" Raphael snarled, his hands reaching for Donatello's throat. Don caught Raphael's wrists with his hands, planted his foot and bucked upward and sideways, knocking Raphael off balance. Don used the momentum to roll over and pin his brother to the floor, but before he could retaliate further, he felt Leo's strong arms hauling him backward, away from Raphael. Raphael scrambled to his feet and darted forward, shoving Leonardo out of the way. Pushing his face only inches from Don's, he shouted, "If you had grabbed her right away and treated her, she'd be okay right now! But you had to try to play with the big boys and fight, instead of doing the one thing that you're useful for!"

Splinter imposed himself between the brothers with a sharp bark. "Raphael!"

Raphael's chest was heaving with rage, but he heard the dangerous tone in his father's voice and knew better than to continue. Instead, he snarled out a curse in Japanese and stalked from the infirmary. Leonardo started to go after him, anger clear in his own face, but Splinter's paw on his arm stopped him short. After a deep, steeling breath, Leo turned to address Donatello, but his words died in his throat.

Don was standing motionless, fists clenched, face blank. But Leonardo could read his thoughts in his eyes, and his stomach sank like a stone as realization dawned. _My god. Donny believes him._


	3. Chapter 3

**Not mine. Except for the Mikey toy I got from McDonald's today. Felt gypped that I didn't get Donny. BTW, I noticed a few errors in the prior chapters…I have no beta, so I've missed a few things here and there. Please be patient with me! Thanks to the reviewers…you guys made my night! Keep it up! (Edited for format 3/1/08)**

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Only the quiet rattle of April's breathing broke the silence. Leo felt almost frozen as he stared at his younger brother, at the self-recrimination in his eyes. He stepped forward and reached for Don, but his brother shrugged away from the touch, turning back to April's side. "Bring Casey in when he gets here." Don's voice was flat, emotionless. Leo was torn between pain for Donny and anger at Raphael. As usual, anger won out.

Leonardo turned on his heel and stalked from the infirmary into the dojo. He could hear the muffled thuds as Raphael worked the heavy hanging bag in the corner with kick after kick. Raph's devastating strength was obvious from the creaking of the chains that tethered the bag to the ceiling. Leo watched in silence for a moment, grinding his teeth, trying to temper his anger with understanding, trying not to lose control.

"You were out of line, Raph." He kept his voice low, refusing to let his own feelings of rage and fear over April's condition infect this moment. Raphael wound up and leapt, crashing into the bag with a tornado kick that nearly ripped the bolt from the stone ceiling. He landed in a wide stance, panting with exertion.

"Leave it alone, Fearless." There was danger in Raphael's voice, but Leonardo was not about to be buffaloed.

"This was not Donny's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault except the Dragons." A pause. "We always knew this might happen someday."

Raphael's hand came up and he pointed warningly at his brother. "I'm telling you to let it go. This is between me and Donny." Leonardo stepped forward and grabbed Raphael by the wrist. He felt Raphael's muscles tighten, but did not release his grasp.

"April was already in a bad way when we found her. Don couldn't have done anything more than he is now. He's in there doing his damndest to fix this. You can't just go in there and…" Leo felt the move before his brother made it and managed to dodge, but the kick was still too close for comfort. He pushed away from Raphael, immediately falling into a ready stance. "Don't you do it," he warned, knowing that his admonition would be disregarded.

Raphael lunged forward, but then stopped short, his eyes fixed on a point over Leonardo's shoulder. From the look on Raphael's face, Leo did not even need to turn around. He dropped his chin to his chest and gave a deep sigh. He knew. Dammit, he knew. She was gone.

Donatello was standing in the doorway, his head held low, eyes glazed. Raphael gave a growl and rushed forward. Don made no attempt to protect himself, but Raphael did not attack. Instead he brushed roughly by his brother and ran to the infirmary.

Leo turned around and opened his mouth to speak, but an ear-shattering crash stopped him, making him instinctively snatch his katanas from their sheaths. He lowered his weapons as Casey charged into the lair with Mike on his heels. Once again, Leo was torn between going to Donny versus doing damage control with the more hotheaded members of the family. Once again, the hotheads won out. Leonardo spared a look of understanding for Donny, then double-timed it to the infirmary.

Casey was puffing like an angry bull, out of breath from what Leonardo assumed had been a headlong sprint to the lair. As he reached April's bedside, Leo watched his face flash through a number of emotions in a few seconds time, everything from anger to confusion to fear. In the end, the emotion Casey settled on was full-on rage.

"What the hell is going on?" His voice was modulated just below a shriek, but Splinter's ears still pinned to his head at the noise. Casey elbowed Raphael out of the way and bent over April's body. "Babe?" He brushed April's cheek with incongruous gentleness. "Wake up, babe." He dropped his forehead to hers and let out a little moan, then began pounding the bed frame with his fist, little sounds of anger and pain escaping him with each powerful blow.

Leo stepped forward and lightly touched Casey's shoulder. The man looked down and shook his head wordlessly. The fringe of his dark hair fell into his eyes, but he did not brush it away. He merely returned his gaze to the silent form of the woman before him. "Damn." The word was quiet, but filled with more emotion than any of them could bear. Raphael was standing facing the wall, leaning on it with one arm. His face was averted, but Leo could see his shoulders quivering…whether with tears or with anger, Leo did not know.

Splinter stepped to Leonardo's side and inclined his head. Leo looked to the side, ashamed for his master to see the tears that were quivering on his lids. "Strength, my son, for your brothers." The old rat's voice was gruff with emotion, but his dark eyes were bright and sharp.

A quick glance revealed that Michelangelo had fled the room. Dashing his hand across his face to clear the tears, Leonardo took a steeling breath and stepped out into the common area. He knew just where to find his youngest brother, even if it weren't for the crashing of pots and pans in the kitchen.

Michelangelo was standing over the sink, washing and rinsing dishes, his movements quick, haphazard. A glass slipped from his hands and he juggled it for a second before it crashed to the floor and shattered. Mike did not make a sound, but picked up a large frying pan and slammed it down on the counter. Then again. And again. Over and over he smashed the pan against the counter with all his might, his breath coming in gasps. Finally, the handle broke and he flung it away from himself with a cry, and dropped his head into his hands. Leo stepped forward and Mike flung himself into his brother's arms, giving himself over to sobs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ah, and so it goes on. I have shamelessly included a detail (the crucifix) from my first fic, Sanctuary, because I see that incident as being part of the character arc that informs Donny's reactions here. Or maybe I'm just trying to get more hits on Sanctuary. Take your pick. As always, nothing is mine. Please keep up the reviews; you guys are my muse. Oo. A rhyme. (Edited for format 3/1/08)**

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Raphael could hear Casey's breath as it caught in his chest, as he fought back sobs. Occasionally Casey would pound the bed frame, shouting a curse, then he would lapse back into silence, his forehead resting on April's pallid shoulder. Raphael felt frozen, unable to leave his friend's side, unwilling to stay. There was a monster inside him, a monster that demanded revenge, demanded blood, and with every moment that he stood there, the monster grew angrier, hungrier.

Finally, Raphael couldn't stand it any longer. He pushed himself away from the wall with a low growl. Casey didn't even look up. Raphael hesitated for a moment, wanting to touch his friend, to comfort him, but instead he just clenched his fist. _Oh yeah. Someone's gonna pay._

He stalked out of the infirmary, fighting back the snarl that was curling his lips. The burning in his chest flared, pain and anger and sorrow and fear and regret. His feet led him unerringly down the long tunnel, through the switchback, to Donatello's lab.

As he came through the door, Raphael saw his brother seated on the edge of his bed. There was a book in his lap, unopened, and his eyes seemed distant. He didn't even look up when Raphael planted himself, arms crossed, in front of him.

"We need to settle this now, Brainiac." Raphael's voice was a low growl, filled with menace, and normally it would have set off warning bells in any of the brothers. But Donatello did not move. He just stared at nothing. Raphael felt his blood pressure spike as anger grew. "You'd better give me some answers, Donny." His order was ignored.

The last of Raphael's self-control fled him and with a bark of frustration he swept the book from Donatello's lap. Don flinched a bit at the movement, but he made no move to fend his brother off. He looked up at Raphael, and Raphael's anger seemed to fade for a moment as he saw the wounded look in Don's eyes.

But then Raphael remembered the sound of Casey's sobs, and all pity was swept away in the rage. He stooped to grab the book from the floor and flung it full-force at Don. It bounced off Donatello's shoulder and caromed into the wall, knocking down a shelf, sending gadgets and knick-knacks airborne. Raphael grabbed Donatello by the nape of the neck and pushed his face inches from his brother's. "Your stupid mistake cost us April, Don. I can't let that go," he hissed.

"You shouldn't let it go." Don's voice was quiet, almost toneless. "You're right, it was my fault."

But Raphael was too far gone to hear the admission. He shoved Donatello away from him with all his strength. Don hit the wall with a crash, knocking down more books and pictures. He did not try to rise, did not try to retaliate. He just sat there, resigned, broken. Raphael let out a howl of frustration. He wanted a fight; he wanted his brother to be angry, to rage with him against the unfairness, against the loss.

Raphael's eyes caught a glint at his feet, and he stooped to pick up a silver cross on a chain. He dangled it before Donatello. "You always count on your brain to fix things," he said mockingly. "Your faith, your intelligence, has _never_ been enough to keep this family safe…"

Raphael did not see the fire flare in Don's eyes, so he did not anticipate the stunning kick to his midriff. It doubled him over, breathless, and Donatello snatched the crucifix from his grasp. "You don't know _anything_," snapped Don, clutching the chain in his hand. "You think I don't know that I fucked up? You think I won't blame myself for this every day for the rest of my life?" He punched Raphael in the chest hard enough to set him back on his heels. "All the shit you say, it's nothing compared to what I'm saying to myself." With a final blow to Raphael's plastron, Don brushed past his brother, bumping him roughly with his shoulder, and took off at a dead run toward the lair.

Raphael thought for a half-second about going after him, but was too stunned to move. Realization had frozen him in place; realization that he had, once again, allowed his anger to blind him to reality; that he had lashed out at the one person who may be hurting more than he was. He dropped his head into his hands with a groan, and turned to rush after his brother.

He stopped short when he saw his father standing in the doorway, eyes stern. "What have you done, Raphael?" Raphael dropped his head, shamed. He knew that Splinter had heard every word.

"Master, I don't know what to do." Raphael was surprised at the quiet sadness in his own voice. "I just can't stand this pain, and I can't do anything to make it go away."

"Kneel, my son." Raphael dropped to his knees, fighting back tears, overwhelmed by grief and regret, and by the loss of the only woman he had ever considered family. "In this life, night falls on every one of us. All of us must face the darkness of death in our own time. But that darkness can infect those who are left behind, if they allow themselves to be blinded by the things that were, and the things that might have been." Splinter's voice softened. "We must not allow ourselves to be destroyed by the magnitude of our individual losses. We are a family, and must face this trial together, if we are to emerge whole in the end."

"I'm sorry, Master," choked Raphael, voice thick with unshed tears.

"You must not allow your desire for vengeance to poison your heart, Raphael. Mourn for Miss O'Neil, weep for her, but do not let her loss breed hatred in you. She would not have wished that." Splinter brushed his son's cheek with his paw, and lifted his chin so that their eyes met. "Do not be ashamed of tears, my son. Consider them to be a tribute to the woman who brought new life to his family."

Raphael dropped his face to his hands and wept.


	5. Chapter 5

**Well, I think I only have a few chapters left in me on this one. Probably one, maybe two, and will be mostly Donny, for those of you who have been patiently waiting. As always, thanks to those who took the time to review. Anyone who writes knows how special it is to see that little flag in the mailbox that tells you that someone cared enough to give you feedback. As always, not mine.**

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Mike didn't know how long he stood there, weak-kneed, crying in his brother's arms. When embarrassment finally hit him, he disentangled himself from Leonardo's embrace and ran his arm across his face. "Sorry," he muttered in a shaky voice.

Leonardo shook his head in wordless absolution, but then his eyes changed. He softly touched his brother on the chest and said quietly, "Maybe you should go shower, Mikey." Mike looked down and his stomach twisted as he saw the rusty dried blood that was smeared across his plastron. Her blood. New tears slicked his eyes but he swallowed hard and nodded silently. He wanted to say something, make a joke, lighten the mood. But the words wouldn't come, so he turned from his brother without a sound.

Michelangelo found himself hurrying as he crossed the common area of the lair. He didn't want to see his brothers. He especially didn't want to see Casey. The lump in his throat was growing, no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down, and he didn't think he could handle another moment like the one with Leo. Thankfully, there was no one to be seen, and he dodged into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. He leaned backward against the cool wood and shut his eyes.

After a moment he looked down at his plastron again, and softly touched his fingers to the dried bloodstains. His entire chest looked as though it had been finger-painted a dirty brown, streaky, uneven. "Shit." He ran his hand over his face again and bent to turn on the shower, and stepped in.

The water was uncomfortably hot, but he stepped into the stream, gritting his teeth against the stinging spray. The blood on his chest began to soften and run, spilling down his legs and circling the drain. As he watched the swirling brown tendrils in the water, Mike allowed a few more tears to flow. And a thought struck him. _There goes my friend, down the drain._

He was filled with self-loathing at the thought, and reached to turn the cold water down. He could barely stand to stay beneath the water, but grimaced and forced himself to remain still. He lifted a hand and watched as steam rose from his flesh like a spirit. _April, I'm so sorry…I should have run faster. I should have taken you to the hospital instead of dragging you down here. _

Mike heaved a shaky sigh and rubbed his hand across the last remnant of blood on his shell. The heat was making him slightly dizzy as his body temperature tried to adjust, so he eased himself to a seat in the tub, the chill of the porcelain contrasting with the warmth of the water. He tried to think of April, to remember the moments that they had laughed together, played together. But all he could think of was the sight of that red-brown stain whirling away down the drain.

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A knock on the door startled him, and he was surprised to feel that the water had cooled. How long had he been sitting there, staring at the circling water? He heard the door creak open and he peeked around the corner of the curtain to see Raphael staring at himself in the steam-fogged mirror. His brother's eyes were red-rimmed but clear and there was, to Mike's slight shock, no sign of rage, no hint of turmoil. He only looked weary.

"Most people like to shower in solitude, you know." Mike forced himself to affect a light tone, despite the dull throb in his chest. But he had to. He couldn't let misery consume his family, so he would pretend. He was good at pretending.

Raphael glanced sideways, and one brow lifted as he noted his brother's position in the tub. But rather than commenting on it, he merely extended his hand and helped Michelangelo to his feet. Mike turned off the now-tepid shower, and accepted the towel that Raphael offered him. Raphael looked back into the mirror, as though searching for something.

Finally, he spoke. "We're taking her to the country." His voice was quiet, a bit raspy, as though he had been shouting. "Splinter is cleaning her up, then we'll drive out before dawn."

Michelangelo found it hard to believe that it was not yet morning. It felt as though eons had passed since they had dropped into the alley, into the new world. But the ache in his back told him that it had been merely hours, though those hours had changed everything forever.

"Raph?" Mike hesitated, but finally sought his brother's gaze. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry."

Raphael looked up sharply, confused. "Sorry for what, Mikey?"

Mike attempted to smile, but it came out as more of a twisted grimace. "I should have run faster."

Raphael stared, speechless. Then, after a long moment, he pulled Mike into an embrace, holding him with a crushing grip. "Don't you ever blame yourself, Mike. Don't you dare."

Mike buried his head in his brother's chest and they stood there together, both dry-eyed, clinging to one another, as the faucet dripped and condensation ran down the mirror like tears.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to those who have reviewed…I know I say it every time, but I appreciate your input, and am very thankful for your taking the time. Okay, on with the angst. Probably one more chapter to come, with maybe an epilogue. Again, not mine.**

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The ride to the country had been mostly silent. Michelangelo started out by trying to generate conversation, but was met with one-word answers and pained stares. Eventually he gave up and settled for looking out the window at the passing scenery as the sun rose to bathe everything in gold and rose. The atmosphere in the van was oppressive. None of them could forget the precious cargo lying silent in the back. 

Now Mike was sitting with Casey at the rough-hewn kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee. Splinter, Raphael and Leo were out by the pond, and the sound of their axes chopping wood drifted through the open kitchen window. Donatello had disappeared immediately after they arrived.

Finally, Michelangelo couldn't stand the quiet any longer. "Casey?"

Casey looked up. His face was drawn, eyes drooping with fatigue and sadness. "Yeah, Mike?"

"We're gonna be okay, right?" It was a question Mike had wanted to ask from the moment he had seen April's body hit the ground in that dank alley.

A sad smile ghosted across the man's face. "Yea, Mike. We'll be okay." It was off-putting to see the normally manic Casey so down, but by the same token, it was comforting that he had hope for the future. Casey looked down at his hands. "Where's Don?"

Mike shrugged, looking into his coffee. "He's around somewhere." He was startled when Casey reached across the table and took the cup.

"You need to go find him, Mike." Confusion wrinkled Michelangelo's brow. "You guys are all taking April's…" Casey stopped, unable to put it into words. "Everybody is taking this thing hard. You've got Leo, Raph has you. Leo's got Splinter. But who does Donny have?"

Shame flooded Michelangelo as the image of Donatello's sad eyes flashed to mind. Casey was right. Don had made himself practically invisible the entire night. They had all been so wrapped up in their own pain that no one had thought to go to him, to make sure that he was all right. Mike's stomach twisted further when he had to admit to himself that the response had not been unusual. Don was so self-sufficient that he usually blended into the background. He was a constant, like the night moon. He was ever-present, dependable, though he waxed and waned. Always there for everyone else, even when they weren't there for him. And Mike had heard enough of the argument between Leo and Raph to know that his brother was probably tearing himself to pieces, killing himself with questions.

Mike pushed his chair back, groaning slightly as he stood, and started for the door. He hesitated, turned back. "Thanks, Casey." He startled himself by leaning over and wrapping the man in a hug. Casey made an odd snuffling sound and ducked his head.

Michelangelo released his friend and hurried to the door, fighting back new tears. As he stepped off the porch into the thick spring grass, he dragged his arm across his eyes, reflecting that he had never cried this much in his entire life. He wondered with a mirthless chuckle if he was getting dehydrated.

After a moment's reflection, Mike walked slowly toward the barn. A knot grew in his stomach as he considered what he might say to his brother. He wasn't so good at heart-to-hearts, but he knew that he was going to have to try. Casey was right. Don needed someone, and Mike would be damned if it wasn't him.

Pushing open the door to the dilapidated old out-building, Michelangelo squinted to adjust his eyes to the darkness inside. The air was musty, with motes of dust dancing in the single shaft of sunlight that beamed down through a hole in the roof. He could see the outline of his brother, seated motionless on a bale of hay, one hand clutching his forearm. As Mike drew nearer, his breath caught when he spotted the gleam of fresh blood on Donatello's fingers, and he broke into a run.

"Are you okay?" There was an edge of panic in Mike's voice. He couldn't take another loss, not now, not so soon. Don looked up at him with clear eyes and nodded.

"I just cut myself on some baling wire. It's fine." Mike peeled Don's fingers away from the wound and grimaced at the ugly gash that gaped in the flesh.

"Don't know how you managed that one, bro." Mike stripped his headband and wrapped the arm quickly, efficiently. Damned if they hadn't all become fine combat medics. As he tied off the last knot, his eye caught a glint of steel, half-covered with straw, at Donny's feet. He stooped and came up holding a hira shuriken. One of the blades was slicked with crimson. "What the fuck, man?" Anger sharpened Mike's voice to a curt bark.

Donny flashed a bitter smile and shook his head. "You always did have good eyes."

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Michelangelo, thrusting the shuriken at Don. His heart was pounding with confusion, fear, and anger.

"It's nothing Mike. Just something to remember her by, is all." Donatello wiped his hand across his chest, leaving a smear of blood, and Mike blanched, remembering that red-brown water swirling in the shower.

"This isn't right, Donny. You've got plenty of things to remember April by. What's the point of this? What's a scar going to do for you?" He jabbed at Don's arm.

Donatello sighed and shook his head again. "I don't expect you to understand. Let's just say it's atonement."

"Atonement for what?" Mike eased himself to a seat beside his brother. "You can't seriously think that this is your fault, Don." He was trying his best to keep his voice level, to not let his emotions seep out in his tone, and he struggled to find the right words. "Things happen, bro. Things that don't seem to make any sense at all, things that aren't fair." He laid his hand on Don's knee. "But just because we can't stop them doesn't mean it's our fault." Mike felt tears coming. He was speaking as much to himself as he was to Donatello. "It's okay to mourn her, Donny. We all are."

Donatello batted Mike's hand away with a sudden sweep of his arm. He stood and stalked a few paces away, then whirled to face his brother. "Why is it so important to you? Why is it so fucking important that I cry?"

"Why is it so important to you that you don't?" Mike tried too late to bite back the retort and watched his brother's face go through a series of emotions, before flashing back to that chilling, dispassionate stare.

"You all think I'm weak." Don's voice was soft, matter-of-fact. "I'm not going to prove you right."

Shock blanketed Mike and he tried not to gasp. "How can you think that?" He felt wounded to the core by his brother's assertion.

Donatello turned away, his fingers unconsciously reaching to caress the jagged scar on his shoulder. "Just because I don't like to fight doesn't mean that I can't."

"I know that, Don. I see you in the dojo, and I see you on the street. I saw you last night in the alley. I know you're not weak." Mike reached out his hand, trying to reach his brother, trying to make him understand. "Come on. What's this really about?"

Donatello leaned against the old junked tractor that was gathering dust in the corner. Finally, he sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. "I just don't know if I can keep doing this, Mike. They killed her. Killed her because of us, for revenge, and we couldn't do anything to stop it." He looked over to Michelangelo and shook his head. "And crying won't bring her back."

Michelangelo gave a sigh that seemed dredged from his toes. "It's not about crying, Don. It's okay if you don't want to. But don't shut us out, bro. We're all hurting, and we need each other. You can't do this alone."

"He's right, you know." A gruff voice made them both jump, and they turned to see the silhouettes of their two brothers in the door. Raphael stepped forward, his fingers fidgeting with his wristband, then he knelt in front of Donatello. "This isn't your fault. And I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do with all the hurt, and I took it out on you. I was wrong."

Donatello looked down at the floor, then back at his brother. He didn't speak but instead grasped Raphael by the shoulder and nodded.

Leonardo joined his brothers, eyes slicked with emotion. "We're a family. Whatever has happened, and whatever is coming, we'll face it together. No more lone warriors. No more turning on each other, and especially no more turning on ourselves." He knelt next to Raphael and squeezed his shoulder. "This pain will never completely pass, but we won't let it destroy us, either. We owe her that much."

Unashamed, Mike threw his arms around Donatello, and then the four clasped one another in a group embrace, coming back together as a family, three weeping, one silent. But all United.


	7. Chapter 7

**Short chapter, I know. An epilogue to come, then done. But fear not. The muse hasn't left me yet, and I shall be continuing this in another story. The boys will need revenge, after all, and I see some action and violence in their future. Thanks to all who have reviewed, as always…please keep it up. I'm very greedy. Not mine, as ever.**

* * *

Darkness cloaked the farm, broken only by the warm lamplight spilling from the windows of the house. The six shared a quiet meal, then padded silently out to the pond where Raphael, Leo, and Splinter had built a pyre. The breath caught in Donatello's throat when he saw it, but he hid it from his brothers by giving a little cough, and wiped his arm across his mouth to mask the quiver in his lip.

He had removed Mike's makeshift bandage from his arm as soon as his brothers left him, and reopened the wound with the blade of the shuriken. He berated himself for being so careless as to let his younger brother see the injury. He didn't expect Mike to understand, and it wasn't fair to burden an already troubled mind with more fear. For someone like Michelangelo, who was abstract, artistic, free of spirit, memories were real, real enough to cling to. But for a mind like Don's, grounded in fact, in the tangible, more was needed. A mark in the physical world.

Casey stepped up to the pyre, April in his arms. He was making no effort to quell the tears that were causing him to breathe in little hiccups and gasps, and Don was forced to look away from his friend, heart burning.

Casey gently laid April's body down on the wood, taking a moment to arrange her hair around her shoulders. Splinter had washed her body and dressed her in clean clothes from the farmhouse closet, but he had been unable to hide the damage to her face. Her quirky beauty had been destroyed, replaced by swelling and bruises. _Soon she'll just be ash. She'll blow away on the wind, enriching the soil where she falls, growing up into plants to be eaten by animals. _Don shook the thought from his head. Could he never just turn off his brain?

With a shuddering breath, Casey bent to press a lingering kiss to April's lips. He nuzzled his face into her hair and whispered something that none of them could hear, then backed away. His face was creased with pain, shining with tears. Donatello could not bear to look at him, and turned his eyes to the sky where a thousand stars shone, unchanged, unheeding of the tiny drama unfolding below.

Splinter shuffled forward, leaning heavily on his staff. Raphael, with a face full of conflicted emotion, stepped up to hand his father a torch. Splinter lowered his head for a moment, eyes closed against the glow of the flame, then gently touched the torch to the pitch-covered branches at the base of the pyre. The kindling caught and began to crackle, and Donatello felt his stomach twist, tasted bile in his throat.

Splinter slowly bowed, and the brothers followed suit. The flame grew, creeping up to lick hungrily at the frayed cuff of April's jeans. Don had to swallow hard to keep himself from vomiting, but he would not take his eyes from the macabre sight. He owed her that much, to not turn away as he had done only hours ago.

Michelangelo made a little noise of distress and turned to fling himself against Don's chest. Donatello, momentarily startled, took a step backward, but then wrapped his arms around Mike. He could feel Mike's tears against his throat and moisture slicked his own eyes, but he blinked it away. Mike's shoulders were heaving as he tried to catch his breath, and Don sighed as he rested his cheek against the top of his brother's head.

The fire, driven by the night breeze, quickly engulfed the pyre, and April was lost from sight. The heat from the blaze burned against Don's face and made him squint, but he could not, would not, look away. Embers, caught by the wind, swirled upward and out of sight, snapping as they went. _There she goes…_

Long hours passed before the flames started to die away, and finally the pyre collapsed in on itself with a crash and a flurry of sparks. Raphael, who had been standing silent at Casey's side, took the man by the elbow and they both turned back toward the farmhouse. Leo and Splinter were close behind, their eyes sad, empty.

Michelangelo turned to follow, but when Donatello did not turn as well, he stopped short and touched his brother's elbow. "You okay, bro?" Mike's voice was rasped with grief.

"I'm okay, Mikey." Don forced strength into his voice. "You doing all right?"

"No." Mike's face was drawn, pale. "I think that's the worst thing I've ever seen."

"Me too."

Mike chanced a glance over his shoulder to where the embers still glowed and his eyes filled again. He sighed, and the exhale was shaky with emotion. "I just can't believe that she's gone. She's really gone."

Donatello nodded, staring down at the remains of the pyre. "We've still got each other, Mike. We have to remember that."

"I know." Together they turned to walk back toward the farmhouse. "Hey Donny?"

"Yeah, Mike?"

A short hesitation. "I love you, bro."

Don did not reply, but wrapped one arm around his brother's shoulder, and they walked together through the darkness, away from the fire, away from their friend.


	8. Epilogue

The wind hisses gently through the aspen leaves, and sun dapples the overgrown grass. Wildflowers sprinkle the field here and there, dashes of color in an ocean of green. The pond is clear and dark, cold and clean. A soft splash sounds as a frog belly flops from a warm stone into the depths.

If one were to walk slowly along the shore of the pond, eyes alert, they might find a hidden patch of flattened, blackened grass and a small, cold slab of concrete set flush with the earth. Its face is smooth, and into the top corner of the stone is embedded a simple silver crucifix, inlaid with shining, opalescent pearl.

Beneath the cross is an inscription.

Beloved April Catherine O'Neil 

_September 12, 1979 to June 3, 2007_

If one were to lift the stone, they would find underneath it a small scrap of paper, wrinkled and stained with dirt. In tiny, precise writing, in fading blue ink, is written,

_April- I'm sorry. I love you. _

_-D_


End file.
